Moving Day
by CHICFelina
Summary: "Enjolras could only watch in horror as all his careful packing was destroyed in less than a second." Enjolras needs the Les Amis' help in moving his belongings to Combeferre's place because the police (and Javert) have found out where he lived and were going to be 'paying him a visit' that night. Craziness ensues when Javert arrives earlier than planned. One sided E/R, E/É
1. Chapter 1

Boxes, dozens of them, of all sizes, materials, colors and weights laid strewn across the small apartment in random formations and stacks as if they were left that way after being thrown about in a drunken fit. A large stack of boxes made of stretched leather were heaped in a pile almost as high as the ceiling in one corner of the room, another smaller box had overturned, scattering sheaves of paper all around the floor. A copy of Plato's _Republic_ lay neatly in the middle of the haphazard pile, as if revelling in the mayhem around it. Enjolras groaned; moving all those boxes was going to be impossible by himself.

He, contrary to his fragile, angelic looking appearance, did have muscle and strength, thanks to his years of training in fencing, cane du combat and savate, but even Enjolras wasn't stubborn enough to insist that he could move all these materials by himself. Besides, he had a deadline; he had to get all of his possessions out of his apartment before midnight fell or he'd be met with a rather unwelcome visit from the local police force regarding his clandestine revolutionary activities. Gavroche had tipped him off the day before about how the police were after him and had found out where he lived and it was then that Enjolras had hurriedly threw together all his possessions into whatever boxes and suitcases he could find, paid off his landlady, asked Combeferre at the Musain if he could temporarily move in with him and wiped all evidence of his existence off of his apartment.

Enjolras massaged his temples; it was so tiring spending the entire last night wiping off fingerprints, packing boxes and doing paperwork that would redirect mail and sensitive information to another address. He would have much rather spent the night writing a revolutionary speech or rereading Robespierre's works. But no matter; his hard work had paid off. Almost all his possessions were packed now and he was ready to send the boxes over to Combeferre's as soon as the others came with him to help load the boxes. Thank God it was Friday, Enjolras thought; he had a few lectures at the university during the daytime but all those lectures were light, with minimal amounts of homework given and on subjects that he was very familiar with already. All he had to do during the school day was to breeze through his classes, do some of the homework at lunch and then he was off school and back to his apartment, ready to tackle his exodus from the police. It was an added plus that most of the Les Amis d'ABC were free on Friday evenings and could help him. It wasn't like they could really refuse though; it was Amis tradition to help another Amis in moving flats and Enjolras could recall all the humorous moving occasions that had happened. Jehan's flower strewn Bohemian apartment filled with light and quirky poems pinned up on the wall, Joly's almost unhealthily sanitized flat that smelt of medicinal rubbing alcohol and sanitizer along with a rather nasty surprise of dissected arms in one of the cupboards, and Grantaire's surprisingly neat rooms with various artsy drawings that he had drawn pinned up on the wall. Enjolras had been surprised that, when helping Grantaire pack, he had found a portrait of himself, lovingly sketched and in watercolour, in one of the boxes.

Enjolras shook the portrait out of his mind; he didn't need distraction in the form of analysing and dissecting why Grantaire had drawn a portrait of him when he was on the run from the police. Time to head to the Café Musain to ask his dear friends for assistance with the move.

* * *

"You – Apollo – is asking for _help_?"

"Yes Grantaire, I'm asking for help." replied Enjolras in an irritated voice. What was the big deal anyways? He wasn't that proud as to refuse help when needed… was he?

Grantaire took a rather large swig from his bottle; apparently, the notion that Enjolras needed help shook his nerves. "Well, this must be the first and last time that Apollo, god of the glorious sun has needed help in pulling his chariot of fire over the surface of the Earth to distribute his rays across the face of Mother Gaea –"

"I just need help moving! And I need to be out of there before midnight!"

"Why do you need to be out there by midnight?" Joly asked, a curious expression on his face. He had stopped looking at his tongue in his compact mirror.

"Because the police found out where he lived and they're paying him a – ahem – visit tonight." Combeferre replied, calmly polishing his glasses. Enjolras had told him about the situation when he had come to ask Combeferre for permission to stay with him. "And we can all guess that the visit won't be very innocent." He added darkly.

A wave of nods and rumbling mutterings swept through the Les Amis gathered at the Musain. Everyone was present, along with Éponine, Marius and Gavroche although Feuilly was absent, saying earlier that he had a large shipment of fans to make and thus could not attend that night's meeting. They were all casting dark and worried looks at each other, obviously worrying if their covers were blown as well and what that could mean for their organization. Bahorel muttered darkly and cracked his knuckles. "Stupid gendarmes don't know not to stick their noses into Les Amis' businesses."

Enjolras nodded in agreement with Bahorel and then asked the entire group; "So… may I ask for assistance in moving my belongings?"

A loud resounding "Yes" echoed throughout the room as the Les Amis all jumped up and started volunteering to do various moving duties. Startled by this large display of helpfulness, Enjolras couldn't help wondering if they were just being nice and genuinely helpful or if they all secretly wanted a glimpse at his belongings and at the way he lived. His suspicions were confirmed when he overheard Bossuet and Joly whispering conspiratorially to each other about if they were going to find love notes to Patria underneath his mattress. Blushing at this, Enjolras concealed his embarrassment by making arrangements with the rest of the Amis and with Combeferre about the manner in which the boxes could be transported.

In the end, when everything was decided upon and everyone had a role in the moving, they decided to hire a trustworthy, republic-sympathetic fiacre who could be trusted not to leak the whereabouts of Enjolras' new location to the authorities. Jehan had suggested that particular fiacre driver due to his connections to him through the Freemasons and their mutual friends in various Bohemian circles and after much persuasion and ardent oaths that the fiacre driver was trustworthy, everyone went along with Jehan's suggestion. It was arranged that Enjolras, Marius, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Grantaire and Éponine (who always tagged along where Marius went) were to help arrange and carry the boxes from Enjolras' flat to the fiacre in the many fiacre trips required to move all his books and belongings over while Joly, Jehan, Combeferre and Bahorel helped take the loads off the fiacre upon arriving at Combeferre's flat. Gavroche was to stay on the fiacre throughout all the trips to supervise the driver and also because Gavroche simply liked the novelty of being in a fiacre as he had never been in one before. How he, a ten year old boy, could supervise the driver who may or may not be a police spy wasn't doubted at all. Gavroche could be pretty scary when he wanted to and when he was with his fellow street gamins (which he said that he'd bring with him on the fiacre ride), he and his gang were notorious for their ferocity and strength. With that settled, everyone parted to do their duty, cheerfully laughing and joking all the way and Enjolras led Marius, Courfeyrac, Éponine, Bossuet and Grantaire to his apartment.

* * *

By the time they were on the road to Enjolras' apartment, the sky was dark already, making it seem like midnight despite the fact that it was, in fact only 6 o'clock. Alas, that was what winter brought, thought Enjolras wistfully, watching the dancing snowflakes swirl around outside the fiacre window.

He and the rest of the Amis who were stationed at his apartment were crammed together in the fiacre, knees knocking with each other. Grantaire was snuggled uncomfortably close to him with his mop of curly black hair on Enjolras' shoulder and Enjolras, try as he might, couldn't move away since he was hemmed in on the other side by Éponine and thus had to endure the smell of liquor from Grantaire throughout the entire ride. Éponine beside him hardly seemed to notice the crowdedness though; she had only eyes for Marius who sat directly across from her while Marius was completely, utterly oblivious to her love struck gazes. Enjolras had to stifle a strong urge to roll his eyes; was that boy really that blind as to not notice Éponine's affections?

Meanwhile, Marius was encountering some difficulty too; his freckled face was wincing every time Bossuet's elbow jabbed his ribs again as Bossuet slept through the bumpy carriage ride and it was safe to say that, by the time the carriage ride was through, Marius would have a large bruise on his side. Éponine looked as if she was inwardly screaming with fangirl-like adoration every time Marius winced. Enjolras mentally face palmed.

Courfeyrac, charming rogue he was, didn't stop lascivious sending lewd eyebrow raises at Enjolras and Grantaire and mock leering at Éponine (due to Courfeyrac's magnetic attraction to the opposite sex) which Enjolras found insufferably annoying and irritating. At one of Courfeyrac's more lewd Éponine oriented ogling, Enjolras surprised himself by feeling a burning feeling in his stomach and by glaring at Courfeyrac in a distinctly possessive way. Courfeyrac's eyebrows shot up his forehead and suddenly, his expression changed to one akin to "Eureka!" as he madly gestured between Enjolras and Éponine. Enjolras could feel the blush starting to creep up his neck as he shook his head fervently mouthing "No" and mouthed "Patria" back at Courfeyrac. Unconvinced, Courfeyrac swallowed back a Cheshire cat grin and mouthed to Enjolras; "We'll see." Grantaire shifted in his sleep, burying his face even more into Enjolras' coat.

Enjolras took a deep calming breath, knowing that this was going to be a long carriage ride indeed.

* * *

By the time they had all gotten out of the fiacre and trooped into Enjolras' apartment, stomping snow all over the place, Enjolras was in somewhat of a temper. He had endured Grantaire practically lying on top of him, Éponine sighing with love sickness every time Marius had so much breathed, Bossuet (who sat right in front of him) occasionally kicking him in the shins while he slept and Courfeyrac sending him and Éponine suggestive looks throughout the entire carriage ride. So it was with a not-so-cheerful expression that he told everyone that they had to load the boxes onto the fiacre. Grantaire, upon hearing this, promptly took a large swig from his bottle again and collapsed on a couple of boxes Marius was diligently trying to lift. Éponine swooned again at Marius' hardworking tendencies but stopped abruptly when Marius started singing an off tune ditty about Cosette's eyes. Enjolras rolled his eyes yet again in long suffering exasperation.

"Gee, why the long face, Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked with a much too innocent expression. "Maybe your face isn't the only thing that is long today-"

A glare from Enjolras silenced him.

To his horror, Éponine suddenly materialized by his side (apparently frustrated from watching Marius sing an off tune melody with the name 'Cosette' sprinkled throughout the lyrics) and asked, not knowing the subtext of Courfeyrac's insinuation; "What? What's long?"

Enjolras inwardly panicked as Courfeyrac's expression suddenly turned to one of opportunistic glee. "You know, Éponine, our fearless leader here –"

"Bossuet! Do you have the boxes all ready?" Enjolras said loudly, hoping to drown out Courfeyrac's voice. That Courfeyrac! Oh, when he has the chance, that rogue was so going to get it!

"Yup! Well, kind of…" Bossuet teetered under a much too high pile of boxes. To everyone's horror, Bossuet stepped on his own shoe and tripped, and, suddenly everything seemed to go in slow motion. The large pile of boxes held in his arms tipped forward and flew through the air in a graceful arch, lids opening as they went, paper and books soaring everywhere. Bossuet let go of the boxes completely, using his arms to prevent himself from doing a faceplant and all the boxes previously held in his arms went literally flying. Straight towards the largest pile of boxes. It would have been funny to watch if not for the cataclysmic result that would follow. Enjolras could only watch in horror as all his careful packing was destroyed in less than a second. But it was not over yet, the boxes thrown by Bossuet smashed straight into the largest pile of boxes in the corner, and, the largest pile teetered… tipped to the side… and completely collapsed, pushing all the other boxes stashed on top of each other beside it over. Like a row of dominoes, all the boxes tipped over around the room and broke open, scattering possessions everywhere and destroying the relatively neat sight of packed boxes that been in place of the scattered mayhem it was now.

For a moment, all six of them stood there, mouths agape, too shocked and (in Enjolras' case) devastated to say anything. It was like watching the aftermath of a disaster.

Finally, Éponine mustered up her composure to say wryly, in her hoarse voice;

"Thank you Bossuet, for that wonderful incentive to start working and stop arguing." The last words she directed at Enjolras and Courfeyrac, the latter whom had the courtesy to look ashamed.

Bossuet blushed.

* * *

**Author's Note: Bonjour mes amis! I hope that you like this story and if you did, feel free to review!**

**This story will not be just a one-shot; I'll be continuing the tale of Enjolras' moving day and keep your eyes open for an update soon! In between you and I, I'll tell you that the next chapter entails: Joly's sanitation mania, Jehan's very... ahem... unique interior decorating style, rising sexual tension between Enjolras and Éponine, and an appearance of Javert's side burns. **

**Stay tuned! **

_**Disclaimer: Je ne possède pas le livre, film ou histoire du ``Les Misérables``. Donc, s'il vous plait ne me poursuivez pas. **_


	2. Chapter 2

Combeferre was frustrated. And for someone who rarely lost his temper, always kept his head and was patient to a fault; that was saying something. For the last half hour, he and Joly, Jehan and Bahorel had been sorting and cleaning up the spare guest room in his flat in preparation for Enjolras' residence and things had been … crazy to say the least. Combeferre's last roommate; an older medical student who had graduated and started working had just moved away a few weeks ago, saying that he was going to live with his mistress, and he had left quite a few surprises behind.

Bahorel, who was very superstitious had jumped two feet up in the air when he opened the abandoned cupboard which housed several skulls and body parts in various stages in dissection. It had taken Combeferre such a long time to calm Bahorel down and, to his exasperation; Joly wasn't helping by buzzing around stating the hygienic hazards of leaving organic material in cupboards. Jehan had taken a fascination with the skulls, even stating (to Joly's horror) that he intended to use the skulls as drinking glasses and perhaps decorate this apartment, his flat and the backroom of the Musain with skulls strung up in the fashion of Noel tinsel decorations and Bahorel at that, had fainted dead away.

Combeferre supposed that it would be funny, the strongman fainting away at something Jehan the poet had said, but with the police bearing down on Enjolras; getting the spare room cleared of the previous medical student's things was a matter of urgency and importance.

There was no time to waste… so what was taking Enjolras and the others so long to get his possessions over here?

"Combeferre! Combeferre!" Joly came running over, a panicked expression on his face. "Combeferre!"

"What?" Combeferre asked worriedly. Had the police come? Where they going to be arrested?

"There. Is. Mold. In. The. Corner."

"You call me over for that?"

"It's MOLD! It could cause all sorts of adverse health effects on people from eye, nose and throat irritation, coughing, shortness of breath, phlegm buildup, wheezing, allergic reactions, and a kind of black mold called Stachybotrys can be toxic, causing airway irritation. And that mold IS black! What if it is Stachybotrys? Oh goodness, this entire apartment is a haven for mold and germs! Have you any sense of cleanness and disease prevention? Oh, I can feel my sinuses acting up now… must be the mold… WHAT IF THE MOLD IS STACHYBOTRYS? We could be poisoned as we speak! I simply must wipe this vile growth off the wall… where are my gloves? Where is my cleaning detergent? We need to clean this apartment right now before the mold spreads-"

Joly had already whipped out his gloves and cleaning detergent as well as a surgical mask and had started rubbing furiously at the wall where a bit of mold grew. Combeferre's admonitions to calm down went unheard. The cleaning detergent sent a vile odour into the air and Bahorel began to revive.

"What is that AWFUL smell?" groaned Bahorel, covering his nose.

"Joly's cleaning detergent." Combeferre said, irate.

"Get him to stop using it!"

"You get him."

"JOLLLLY! STOP USING THAT AWFUL LIQUID!"

Just then, Jehan popped from around the wardrobe, fondling a skull.

"What was that yelling all about? Bahorel, you know we're in a rather small space here, no need for loudness." He scolded Bahorel like a school teacher scolding naughty children, brandishing the skull at Bahorel.

It was a terrifying image; Jehan in all his resplendent Bohemian glory, flowers the color of blood braided into his dirty blond hair, wearing clothes at least 30 years out of date but garishly colored and with strange patterns embroidered into the fabric, brandishing a skull in his hands. The effect of his getup and appearance seemed ethereal and Romantic in daylight, but with the dim lighting in the small room; the effect was rather frighteningly otherworldly. It didn't help that the candle light threw strange patterns upon his face and created an effect that made it seem like the skull had glowing eyes.

Bahorel fainted again.

"Jehan!" exclaimed Combeferre. "Now look at what you've done!"

"But I didn't do anything!"

An incredulous stare met his gaze. Jehan decided that the best way to evade a rare Combeferre meltdown was to change the topic.

"Say… how about we get more of these skulls and string them up along the walls? That would make the room seem a bit more arcane and magical, won't you think? And I was also thinking; do you mind if we paint the walls a deep, twilight like misty violet color? I do think that violet walls will look good with this room; violet the color of mystery, of royalty, of the supernatural… not to mention that violets the flowers are just wonderfully beautiful plants… Oh! I got it! We can string up the skulls with flower chains made of violet! That would make this room soooo –"

"Combeferre! Combeferre! Combeferre!" Joly shrieked from the corner. "THE MOLD IS NOT COMING OFF! WHAT DO WE DO? WHAT DO WE DO? WHATDOWEDO?"

Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt like he was looking after a group of rambunctious schoolboys.

This was going to be a long night indeed.

* * *

Meanwhile, Enjolras, Éponine, Marius, Grantaire and Courfeyrac were hard at work. They had spent at least an hour packing up all the boxes and stuffing Enjolras' papers and books into their previous containers again after Bossuet's destructive fall while Bossuet was relegated to sitting on the floor doing no work, a position everyone else had deemed the safest. The group (with the exception of Bossuet) had sorted papers, folded clothing, stuffed odds and ends into bags, and packed most of the boxes. Bossuet sat nearby, looking at them work with a sulky expression.

"Can't I help you guys? Pleeeeeeeeease?"

"NO." Five voices said simultaneously.

"But I can stack paper or something-"

"NO."

"You guys are being mean to me."

"Yes."

"That's not nice."

"No."

"Just please let me help! I feel so useless sitting here doing nothing!"

"You're actually being very useful at the moment." Éponine countered. Bossuet looked up, startled and confused.

"How?"

"By not knocking things over, destroying all previous packing, creating an avalanche of boxes to rain down on us, setting books and papers on fire, not tripping over your own shoes, not tripping over us, not accidently knocking the wardrobe down, not accidentally ripping Enjolras' stuff, not falling out the window, not falling through the floor, not accidentally locking Enjolras' most prized possessions in a safe which you've changed the password to accidentally, and not hindering our work efforts."

"…"

"See? You're being very helpful already!"

Grantaire snorted. Bossuet scowled.

"Citoyens, can we please stop arguing?" Enjolras pleaded. He was getting anxious; they had wasted already an hour repacking things and from his calculations, they wouldn't be able to make the due time to get all of his possessions out of the apartment. The fiacre trip to Combeferre's place was long and he wasn't sure if he could get all his things there in time. Perhaps, he should just send the first load over now; that would leave them time to get the rest all packed up. He stood up.

"Citoyens, how about we load all of what we have packed so far into the fiacre now? During the time of the fiacre trip, we can get the second load all packed up."

Éponine nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

Enjolras tried to conceal his pleased expression but abruptly scowled when Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows at him. Behind Courfeyrac, Grantaire's eyes narrowed as he looked between Enjolras and Éponine as if he was trying to discern what was going on between the two. From Enjolras' view, he didn't look too happy.

Brushing that aside, Enjolras lifted one of his packed boxes and made his way to the door, ready to hand the suitcase over to the fiacre. Grantaire immediately darted out and held the door open for him. Surprised, Enjolras smiled a "Merci" at Grantaire and received a pleased beam in return. Mildly bemused, he approached the fiacre, hearing the others behind him also carrying boxes and following him outside.

Gavroche, upon seeing him come outside bounded out of the fiacre.

"Monsieur Enjolras! Finally! I was beginning to fear that there was some difficulty inside!" he gestured to his fellow gamins who were all lounging inside the fiacre alongside with a (strangely) unruffled driver dressed in Bohemian garb. "My friends and I were debating if we should storm your apartment in case the gendarmes had gotten to you."

"Ah, thank you Gavroche, but really, there is no need." Enjolras smiled at the boy. Gavroche was like a petit frère to him, always fiercely loyal and resourceful. "We'll just be loading the boxes on here now… sorry, do you mind of your friends move aside for a moment…?"

They loaded the boxes that had already been packed into the fiacre while Gavroche and his fellow gamins stood by and watched eagerly, joking around and giggling in the crisp winter air. Enjolras smiled, somehow, Gavroche could always lift his mood. When all the packing had been done, and before the fiacre could leave, Enjolras called the fiacre driver over.

"Monsieur, do you mind if one of my friends accompany you as well? He is needed to keep all the boxes from tumbling out."

"I don't mind at all, Monsieur! Which one of your friends is coming?"

Enjolras pointed to Bossuet, who was easily noticeable in the group due to his bald head. "Bossuet," he called. "Do you mind if you stay with the fiacre throughout all the trips?"

Bossuet's eyes lit up. Apparently, sitting in the carriage was going to be a lot less stressful with a lower risk of disaster than packing with Enjolras and his high strung group.

"Bien sur Enjolras!" he started forward, only to trip over his own feet and land face down in the snow. Gavroche stifled a good natured giggle. Bossuet popped back up again promptly, brushed himself off and bounced to the fiacre.

"Bonjour Monsieur!" he greeted the fiacre driver cheerfully as he got into the carriage. That was the good thing about Bossuet; he always bounced back from his bad luck easily and jovially.

Enjolras waved at him and Gavroche as the fiacre pulled away, leaving wheel tracks in the virgin snow. It was snowing more heavily now, and previous footsteps in the snow were starting to blur and become indistinct. Soon the fiacre wheel tracks would be covered up too. Enjolras was glad; the more covered up their trail was (literally) the safer he and the Les Amis would be from the gendarmes.

He turned to his friends waiting by the front door of his apartment.

_"Allons-y mes amis, nous avons travail pour finir."_

* * *

A young rookie gendarme rushed into the office, a slip of paper in his hands.

"Monsieur Inspecteur!" he gasped, holding out the paper and looking around for signs of his boss. "Monsieur Inspecteur?"

The office was empty. The young gendarme peered curiously around… he could have sworn that he never saw his boss leave the office… so where could he be? He was also quite curious as to what the office looked like, the times that he had entered in there were brief and there were never any time to see how the office was furnished to reflect its occupant's personality. Now he had time… might as well snoop around for a bit.

The office was sparsely furnished and very masculine; there was a hard wooden chair with a dark coat thrown across it behind an oak desk with lots of drawers. Papers, ink bottles and quills were strewn across the desk and, looking closer, the young gendarme could see arrest warrants, letters to the head of French security, and investigation paperwork among the papers on the desk. All what he had expected of the no nonsense, business oriented inspector.

However, the interesting part of the office was on the wall behind the desk. The wall was completely papered up with sketches of various criminals and details on the criminals… it was the infamous 'Public Enemies' and 'WANTED' list. Black and white sketches of criminals whose expressions were full of shadow and menace glowered down at the gendarme.

At the very centre of the collage of portraits was a portrait slightly larger than the rest. It showed a middle aged man with a messy, unkempt beard, dark hair cropped short with a rather long straight nose. He wasn't particularly handsome, but had an air of nobleness about him. The man's gaze wasn't full of menace and ill will like the others; instead, his eyes were a deep, profound and tortured sadness.

Despite the unkempt hair and beard as well as the dirt and grime on his face, the young gendarme didn't feel that the man seemed like a why did his portrait take centre stage? He peered closer at the label underneath the picture, in large capital letters, **"JEAN VALJEAN, 24601"** was written. So that was the man's name… what was he wanted for that would put Javert so firmly on the hunt for him? **"Breaking parole 17** **years ago, Convicted of Thievery (loaf of bread), Breaking and Entering. Sentenced to 5 years in prison, sentence extended to 19 years after escape attempts".**

The gendarme's eyebrows shot up. Such a heavy sentence for so light a crime! But it wasn't his place to dispute the judgement of the judicial court… still, he couldn't help feeling sorry for the man. His puzzlement grew when he realized that his boss, who dealt with much more dangerous criminals had his sights set firmly on that man. Hmmm… why was that?

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, the young gendarme noticed a strange chain of symbols bordering the edges of Valjean's wanted poster. They looked suspiciously like… no that couldn't be, why would Javert draw that? He scrutinized the symbols closer… _holy, he was right_… but that was unbelievable, presposterous… he couldn't believe his eyes. Monsieur Inspecteur drew _that_ on Valjean?

_"Hearts?"_ he whispered incredulously.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN MY OFFICE?" a powerful voice roared at him. The rookie jumped nervously and, dreading the berating he would get, slowly turned around, a guilty look on his face.

"I- er- well… I was just- waiting- cause you didn't come- so I waited and I…er… was looking for you…" his voice trailed off at the murderous glare Inspector Javert sent him. Javert's side burns were bristling quite impressively. The rookie gendarme shrank back, bracing himself for the storm that was sure to follow.

After several long, tense, awkward minutes of Javert glaring at him furiously while a muscle in his jaw twitched uncontrollably, Javert suddenly turned around, swept out of the office and called over his shoulder to the young gendarme who was near fainting with relief after his close call.

"Come, we have a revolutionary to catch."

* * *

**Author's Note: Bonjour encore mes chers amis! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and, if you did, feel free to review! Also, thank you all sooooooooo much for all the dear reviewers, favouriters (although there is only one... SO FAR) and followers! Je vous aime! :D :D :D **

**In the next chapter, the drama (and humor) will escalate. We'll see Éponine getting hot and heavy with Courfeyrac much to Enjolras' dismay, Grantaire passing out (again), Javert crashing the Les Amis get together, and Enjolras' attempts to win Éponine's affections. Stay tuned!**

**P.S. The first chapter was slightly changed; I changed it so that Gavroche and his gamins were supervising the fiacre while Jehan was with Combeferre, Bahorel and Joly at Combeferre's place. Sorry if this causes any confusion during this chapter.**

_**Disclaimer: Malheureusment, je ne possède pas ``Les Misérables`` ... Je ne suis pas Victor Hugo donc, s`il vous plait ne me poursuivez pas. Merci et avez un bon jour!**_


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